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by LilibethSonar



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunkenness, F/M, Light Angst, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 05:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16130384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilibethSonar/pseuds/LilibethSonar
Summary: From there, it gets weird. None of her keys fit the lock. As in, at all, they won’t even go in. Gathering her wits, Rey wonders if she’s at a neighbor’s. Then it hits her. It’s not a neighbor’s house — it’s Ben’s.Her home isn’t with Ben anymore.





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**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to read a fic about barging into your exes house while drunk but couldn't find one and had to write it myself. :D  
> Unbetaed but kinda fine? I think? Anyways, enjoy!

“Are you sure you don’t need a ride?” Rose asks, skeptical, as she loads Finn’s incoherent, happy and very, very drunk ass on the passenger seat.

“Nah, don’t waste gas on m—” Rey hiccups. She’s in a better shape than Finn but only just. She waves her phone meaningfully and does an impressively accurate — for a rum-filled ear — vocal imitation of a car honk.

“Alright,” Rose snorts, “call your Uber, you boozer. See you on Monday!”

“See ya!” Rey grins at Rose’s car back lights and, true to her word, taps on her phone’s screen.

It’s dark. She taps again. Still dark.

“The fuck are you, _Black Mirror_?” Rey mutters, pressing the power button, and then remembers that— Oh. It died sometime between margaritas.

She considers calling a taxi from the bar but _nah_ s at herself. Why bother? It’s, like, four blocks.

Gonna be home in no time, Rey thinks and heads out, heels clicking arrhythmically on a sidewalk, neon lights above the bar’s entrance blinking sleepily at her back.

 

*

 

She makes it up the porch steps without tripping once. Now, that’s an achievement! Rey fist-bumps the air — it’s getting kinda chilly — and rummages through her clutch in search of the key ring. Yet again, Rey is victorious — the keys dangle from her fingers and she didn’t drop a thing.

From there, it gets weird. None of her keys fit the lock. As in, at all, they won’t even go in. Gathering her wits, Rey wonders if she’s at a neighbor’s. Then it hits her. It’s not a neighbor’s house — it’s Ben’s.

Her home isn’t with Ben anymore.

The realization sinks in like in icy… fucking… boulder — and that’s when Ben opens the door, startling her.

“What are you doing here?”

_Damn, it’s cold._

“Oh, shit! F-s-sorry!” Rey stammers, palms pressed to her flushed cheeks. “I’m super drunk and I— Shit, I came _here_ by the habit of force.” Something is off with that statement but Rey’s too mortified, even in her inebriated state, to retract her words.

Ben doesn’t say anything, stone-faced, dressed for bed and beloved.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeats, hands flailing desperately. “I wanted to call an Uber but my dumb phone died.”

Ben heaves a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. Rey misses his nose and low-key wants to cry because of it.

“ _Stay here_ ,” Ben says with a strain before disappearing inside the house.

She wants to discipline. No, wait. To dissipate.

Rey waits on a swinging bench by the front door. She used to have this stupid fantasy about them sitting there together when they’re gray and old, and now her want to cry is quite high-key.

Ben returns with his phone in hand, already tapping on the screen.

“What’s your new address?” he asks, edges of his words sharp.

Rey tells him. She doesn’t slur as badly as before but her breath catches.

“Since when you’re a sad drunk?” A short look is all he gives her.

“I’m not a sad drunk,” she mumbles, “I’m a sad person.”

“Since?”

And, oh, for fuck’s sake! She’s feeling bad enough, he doesn’t have to pile his edgelordly crap on top of her bleeding heart.

“Since I came here and remembered I have a shitty studio apartment, not a home!” Rey snaps, swinging angrily.

 _Not a house_ , Ben could’ve corrected her , but that’s not what she meant, so he doesn’t.

“I begged you to stay,” he says instead, and it start’s snowing.

“You did.” This is the part where she stands up, and goes, and catches a ride to her studio and maybe a cold. But she keeps talking because suddenly she needs him to _know_.

“Know what?” She catches his gaze out of all things. “I can’t be with you while you work for literal gangsters. But I can’t just turn off my love either. That’s _not_ how it works.”

Ben blinks at her and something changes about his face, his posture, his whole being.

“I don’t work for them anymore.” He sounds dumbstruck, and Rey’s brain sort off lags, processing this information.

“You sure?” _Rey, an intellectual_.

“Positive.”

“ _Why?”_ The way she asks it is almost accusatory — god, what is wrong with her?

“I couldn’t deal with the pressure without you around.” Ben is looking at her… strangely. Like she woke him up from an enchanted nightmare. “Rey,” he croaks, “are you saying you still love me?”

“Never stopped,” she whispers with a nervous chuckle that has nothing to do with alcohol. She’s pretty fucking sober.

With half a laugh, half a cry, Ben drops to his knees and gathers her into his arms. Rey cries in earnest, leaving smudges of her makeup on the collar of his t-shirt, and laughs, too.

The front door closes behind them. Rey is home.  

   

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think in the comments! Come say hi to me on tumblr, my side blog for rambling is lilibeth-with-starwars-flavour.
> 
> Also, if you happen to be a beta and are currently looking for a long-term relationship with a problematic (tm) grammar - and maybe you're even fond of run-on sentences? I sure am! - I'm about to start posting a long and slow reylo fic and could really use help. <3


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